The Romantic Charge of Working Together
by Entwife Incognito
Summary: Tag to 705, The Silver Briefcase. A quickie in every sense. Short. Quickly written. Futile attempt to quench & bank a branch of the flaming fandom libido. Calm the lusty requests in my message boxes. I get you all. 1-shot. Strong situations. The C-word used in its most instinctual, anatomical way. If you don't like that, don't read this! The Mentalist: Not mine.


Jane tightened his fingers on Lisbon's wrist as she cut the outside light and locked the front door, pulling her around to face him and pushing her flush against it. He rubbed hard flesh into her belly, then dipped low to stroke against her sex. His voice rumbled, the strum of the lowest string on a bass guitar, vibrations traveling through her body like tremors of earthquake, tuning her core."You've been touching me all day, Agent Lisbon. Sneaky little smiles. Bedroom eyes. You've been romancing me at work!"

Her clitoris stood and she felt her panties soak. She could have melted against him, let him ply her with those beautiful hands. The tips of her breasts ached for it. Instead, she nipped his chin and he hissed when he jerked back, staring into pools of black light rimmed with shimmering, dew-drenched moss. "You. You've been lusting after me all day. Taking my hand—."

"You put it in mine-. You stroked my back so thoroughly, I didn't know if you were going to stop at my ass!" His expression was reproachful. "You know how sensitive I am on my back."

She pulled him close. Staring at his lumpy fly, knowing what lay underneath, made her want to possess him.

But he pulled away, opening his pants and pushing them down enough for her to see his hard shaft lifting, straining to be free from the wide elastic band of the boxers that pinned it down.

Her hand darted to cover the bare skin, rubbing across him, then riffling her fingernails in the patch of golden hair that crowned the base, a lusty scratch in her voice. She let her restless fingers wander low, testing the drawn, wrinkled sides of the round lobes there. "Dressing me as a beekeeper in a fantasy to _un_dress me. Accusing me of a fling with the Colonel. You were jealous!" She nipped a tiny hard bud on his chest and he thrust into her belly again, making her relish a dry hump that he somehow made succulent.

"Let him see that there's a big dog on guard." Getting harder made his bent state more painful but it was the engulfing, delicious pain of lust soon fulfilled. They were both merciless in a tease. "Just sniffing around, making sure that randy hard dick wasn't trying to lure you away from me."

"Nothing could do that."

"You know what men are. How they can make a woman feel." He stroked the side of a breast with his fingertips and listened to her breathing change, then fluttered over her nipple. Her hips curled toward him.

"Men say women have that power. Over them." Her hand slid under his boxers, down his penis to the head and squeezed there, then curled her fingers, slowly petting the length of his shaft with very light pressure. He grasped her arm and pressed it against himself, trying to thrust through the tube of her fingers, but she let go. Easing her hand out, she put his boxers back in place.

"It takes two, Teresa."

"Remember that, Patrick." She gazed into his eyes. "Are you that kind of man? A man who . . . wanders?"

Long strands of clear saliva drew from her tongue when she wet her fingers, looking into the torrid sea of his eyes, droopy with desire.

"No. Never. I'm with you."

"But you'll look at women. And think about undressing them . . . touching them . . . fucking them . . ." She rubbed his exposed flesh and felt it swell and rise as Jane groaned, his cock struggling to find a way out of his clothes. Lisbon showed him no mercy, wrapping her fingers around the base, squeezing as she lifted her face for a kiss. "You'll make me jealous!"

"They'll make me think of you . . . and I'll fuck you . . . hard! Because you're the only woman for me." He devoured her lips, hissing air into his nose to manage a breath. "You made me dream of you, today. All day. Only you."

"Good." Gently, she took his arm and pulled toward the kitchen. "Come with me. I want you now."

The soft urgency in her voice thrilled him, his chest a bellows as she led him to the kitchen table and turned her back to him. Her arms moved and he heard her unzip, watched as she exposed her backside, the sealed swollen lips glistening below when she bent to pull her clothes to her ankles. Could a whole body flush like that? He lifted a foot to approach her. "Lisbon!" It was a strangled whisper.

"Wait. Don't do . . . anything. You'll know when." Jacket on the floor, her blouse and bra floated over her head as she flung them to the side and dark waves of hair washed over her creamy shoulders. She bent over, settled her breasts comfortably and gripped the edges of the table, prepared for something demanding and reckless. Then she turned her head and smiled.

Jane stood in a daze, mouth watering at her heart-shaped ass, sensing where to grip her hips to power-plunge into her exposed wet flesh until he died. He finally noticed her smiling at him.

She widened her legs, opening everything to his view. "Pull down your pants, Patrick and let me see the big tool you're going to use to make this swelling burn inside me all better." She was panting now, and wiggled her hips to show him where.

Everything happened quickly after that. Dumping his jacket down his arms to the floor, he snaked loose of shirt and vest together, unbuttoning only the cuffs. Striding to her, his fly near her face, Jane pulled his clothes down, his erect cock slapping his belly as it bounded free.

"Oh! That's going to help a lot!"

Her wiggle was now restless, involuntary, and he stepped behind her, gripping her hips and thumbing her open everywhere, looking, probing, dampening his fingers with her scent. He squeezed her soft flesh, watching it mold and roll in his hands, but he wasted little time that way. Listening to her tiny grunts of pleasure as he touched her, the vision of how she had presented herself to him awakened the beast. In the wilderness, he craved what she offered him, named it when he was almost wordless . . . cunt. And then his thinking brain shut off.

Lodging the head of his cock into her slippery opening, he shoved deep, relishing her heat and her erotic cry. He rode in so hard, she was forced to the toes of her boots and when he thrust deeper, they bounced off the floor. It was havoc from there. He shifted a fall of silky hair to the side and pressed a hand on her upper back to hold her down. Their pants, puddled at ankles and shoes, were no hindrance

Dancing wickedly inside her, rubbing and ramming her from every angle, spiraling into her and jerking nearly out to spiral back in, Teresa's responsive hips moved with him, beautiful bottom shimmering in the slam. Their friction was silk, dressing them both in a thin molten layer, making them one. Her body was electrified, chaotic in a series of orgasms, her mind bright shadow. When he finally gave in to her begging, squeezing, sucking cunt, Patrick was groaning, louder and higher with every breath until he felt her fingers on his arm.

She needed something to hold onto as he hammered into her. If she could just grip the arm that held her hips in place . . .

Then he caught her hand and removed his other from her back, grasping both of her arms below the elbow to bow her body gently toward him. The new angle hastened his extremis, his thrusts total instinct as Teresa began to call out, pinned snug by his grip on her arms. The sound rippled along his spine to fuse with the indescribable sensation of being coupled with her. When he closed his eyes, he filled with light, glittering like flakes of gold, the living dust of creation. It burst out of him and suddenly it was just he and the woman he loved, in the pounding throes of orgasm.

She felt the heat when he filled her, felt the warm rivulets run down her legs as he lodged inside her, jerking with the spasms of his climax. When he let go of her arms, she lifted a little and turned to him, chest heaving. Eyes closed, he snuggled his head against her back, still gasping for air. His hand slipped under her raised breast, cupping it in a gentle squeeze as she lay back down. They made a sweaty, flushed, gasping heap when he fell gently on her back, the alcove soft with the contented sound of very satisfied lovers.

Never having turned on the lights when they entered at dusk, the house was pitch black as they pulled up their pants to move, then gave up searching for clothes and stumbled to their bed, not wanting the blare of artificial lighting to strike the reality of their erotic encounter. It wasn't the first time they had tumbled in, exhausted and without supper. Their days ran by a work schedule, but their nights flowed in the rhythm of lovers, who wake in the wee hours for something toothsome, filling the corners to let them rest blissfully in each others arms until morning.


End file.
